


Homecoming

by IsVampirismGay



Series: Trans!d'Artagnan verse [1]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Episode: s01e01 Friends and Enemies, Gen, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-18 07:07:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28739235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IsVampirismGay/pseuds/IsVampirismGay
Summary: this is basically just the first episode but this time d'arty boy is trans and there's nothing you can do about it(the actual fic is actually written like at least somewhat serious piece of fiction instead of being an excuse for really terrible jokes. I swear.)
Series: Trans!d'Artagnan verse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2142954
Comments: 4
Kudos: 21





	Homecoming

**Author's Note:**

> did you know that if you're a small tittied person you can look surprisingly flat if you wear an open anything, but especially leather?
> 
> no pairings yet cause they barely met each other but you can read it as slash
> 
> "maybe I'm hyperfixating" said the chap as he's posting like the 63rd fic this month  
> it's me  
> i'm the chap

Seeing his skirt, the men who found him didn't really expect him to put up a fight, making them sloppy. He wrangled the pistol from one, shot the other and took a sword, threatening the now unarmed man. Shots echoed from the tavern and the man rushed out, d'Artagnan running after him. He just managed to catch the sight of his assailant throwing himself on the horse and galloping away with other cloaked men.

His father stumbled out of the tavern.

"I'm sorry father, I couldn't stop them-"

D'Artagnan paused as his father collapsed. He rushed to his side, trying to hold him up and cradling his face.

"Father?" he asked, worry and tears choking his voice. He noticed his father's hand clutching his lower chest, hand covered with blood despite the rain.

"Did they do this?" he asked.

"Athos... of the Musketeers," he wheezed out.

"I'll find him and avenge you, I promise," d'Artagnan whispered hoarsely.

His father coughed, and looked at his face, mouth drawing into an almost smile.

"You were always a better son than a daughter," he breathed out and his eyes went dull.

D'Artagnan's hand pressed around the wound in vain and his head bent down, sobbing into his father's chest.

* * *

The tavern keep found him in the mud, still clutching his father's body. D'Artagnan refused to let go of his father just yet, so instead the keep had him help carry the body inside to prepare him for burial.

"You two were going to Paris?" inquired the keep after they placed d'Artagnan's father on a table.

D'Artagnan nodded mutely. His gaze moved to the hole in the clothing where the deadly bullet hit him.

"I promised to avenge him," he whispered quietly.

"I would tell you not to," the keep said, "but you don't seem to be a lady that can be so easily swayed."

"I am no lady," d'Artagnan said. "Do you have any extra men's clothes?"

* * *

The keep decided it was better to oblige him rather than argue about what is supposed to be right and proper, letting him borrow some clothes that were left behind by people over the years. He took the weapons belt from the man he killed earlier in the stables, making sure the gunpowder was dry. After a moment of consideration he took the leather doublet too. He felt like he'll need any extra protection.

"Oh my," the barkeep said when he reappeared inside. "I didn't recognise you at all!"

He handed him the bag and hat his father left in the tavern.

"I believe this is yours," he said.

D'Artagnan nodded, accepting the items. The bag contained a coin pouch - far from the most plentiful, but still enough for d'Artagnan to give the keep some coins.

"For you troubles," he said.

He went back to his father, kissing his cold forehead.

"I'll bring you justice," he promised quietly and left the room.

The tavern keeper stood on the door threshold, watching d'Artagnan leave on his horse, looking like just another rider in the storm. He closed the door, looking at the dead bodies waiting for him to send them off.

He sighed, muttering a prayer asking God to protect the strange child whose dead father was lying on his table.

* * *

D'Artagnan stopped his horse a bit before Paris, finding an overhang that shielded him from the rain. He took off his hat and worked his braid loose. Then he grabbed a section of his hair and started hacking it off with a dagger, leaving just enough length to hide his face but not so long to resemble a woman's style.

"Hello," he said and cringed at his voice. "Hello," he tried again, settling in a comfortable drawl. "I'm Charles d'Artagnan."

He shook his head. "Hello," he repeated, "I would like a room?" His voice strayed towards a higher pitch. "I need a room," he repeated, willing himself to sound as bored and tired as possible.

He wiped the bits of his hair off the dagger, putting it away and climbing back onto his horse, continuing his way.

* * *

When he arrived to Paris it was too late for him to continue the search for Athos, so he found an inn and rented a room. The keeper's eyes stayed on him before she left.

"A bit young, aren't you?" she commented and left him in his room.

He breathed a sigh of relief.

He took off the wet cloak, putting it on the chair at the fire to dry. He ran his hands over the leather doublet that now covered his torso. It was a bit ill fitting in some places.

He found a hole in his side.

He frowned.

The man was shot only once and it was on the other side of the chest, higher. His fingers found the corresponding bullet hole.

His stomach felt heavy. _Was Athos keeping company of common murdering and stealing bandits? Then again, birds of feather flock together._

He took off the doublet, deciding that the bullet holes would look too suspicious if he let the other guests see. He might get accused of murder and robbery himself.

Wearing nothing but the shirt he felt uncomfortably exposed.

The damn shirt had no laces, leaving him no choice but to leave a part of his chest exposed. he looked down at himself, testing a few different poses. The crumpled material looked surprisingly shapeless even as he stood straight.

He gestured around a bit. A few more rash and open movements exposed the side of his breast. He quickly covered it with the shirt.

He took a few deep breaths and made his way down.

* * *

"Clean water is extra, Madam."

When the fine-dressed woman ordered herself a bath he couldn't help but speak up, his long tongue acting on its own accord.

The woman's companion walked to his table, clearly agitated.

"Are you addressing me, sir?"

He was looking at him from a downwards angle. Did he notice anything?

D'Artagnan leaned back from him and looked him in the eye.

"Not unless your name is Madam."

There was a voice in the back of his head saying that the smart thing would have been to deescalate, that he can't afford much waving around with sword at the moment.

He pointed his pistol.

_Close enough._

* * *

The woman passed him - very close - and he couldn't help but take notice how incredibly attractive she was, her face tantalizingly close.

And she had his pistol, pointing it at him.

"Missing something?"

He looked at her, trying not to show that his internal monologue at the moment was composed entirely of high-pitched screaming.

"I see you still need that lesson in manners."

She approached him, the pistol still up and he carefully backed away, trying to keep a reasonable distance.

And then she kissed him, backing both of them into his room.

D'Artagnan's brain short-circuited and he kept kissing back, completely disregarding his previous concerns.

She slammed the door shut and they've collapsed on the bed, all tongue and heavy breathing. She reached down, tugging his shirt out of his breeches, trying to get it off him. He froze, remembering that she still thought him a man like all others.

"Oh," she said, finally noticing his breasts. "I won't tell anyone if you won't."

D'Artagnan stared at her for a moment, still breathless.

"Sounds good," he said and they've resumed their activities.

* * *

He moved her choker, revealing an old scar running around her neck.

"What happened?" he asked, running his fingers gently around it.

"Man I loved tried to murder me," she answered.

An old simmer of rage roared up in his chest. He's seen the sort, the scum who felt like they owned their wives and lovers. Those who thought they have the right to dictate not only life but also death of women bound to them

"Say the word and I'll kill him for you," he said fervently.

"I may hold you to that one day," she said and kissed him, making them both forget about the world for a while longer.

* * *

He woke up, a high pitched noise cutting through his unconsciousness. It was a woman screaming, he realized after a few moments. He blinked his eyes open.

It took him another few moments to remember where he was and what happened last night. He blinked again, focusing on what has in front of him.

Which was a dagger stabbed into a pillow, blood staining the steel and fabric.

He reached out, taking the dagger and examined it closely.

The blood on it was fresh enough to still be sticky, but it was old enough not to be runny anymore.

He put the dagger down, rushing to put his clothes on, after a moment of contemplation taking the leather doublet too, but left it open in a way that concealed the bullet holes.

He opened the doors, walking out and looking where the screaming was coming from. He took the dagger, trying to find out where did it come from.

* * *

"You! You murdered him!"

He raised his hand, trying to gesture his denial as he struggled to articulate that _no he just found this dagger in the pillow, it was her, the woman travelling with the man_ and then he realised waving around the murder weapon was a horrible idea, really.

 _Why_ did he want to say it was him?

"Someone!"

He bolted.

* * *

A window jump and wild goose chase later he found himself pressed against a column at the market, hiding from his pursuers. He was still in the open, anyone could find him if they bothered to look a bit more carefully.

There was a woman wearing a colourful dress shopping in front of him.

He grabbed her arm.

"I'll give you five livres if you kiss me now," he said hastily and kissed her.

She protested against his mouth and he felt a pang of guilt because of that but he also saw his pursuers run straight past him without noticing so he couldn't bring himself to feel too bad about it.

"I can't believe that worked!" he said happily and immediately got kneed into his crotch, which while it was intended to be much more painful still wasn't too pleasant.

The woman pointed a knife at him.

"Touch me again and I'll gut you like a fish!"

_Oops._

"Do I look like a working girl?"

To be entirely fair, he's worked very hard to block all knowledge of women's fashion from his mind.

"Well..."

"This is my best dress!"

She kept admonishing him, wielding the knife but he was feeling the morning chase get to him and his mental capacities were taken up by trying to stay upright. He mumbled an apology and tried to continue his way, looking for the Musketeers garrison.

The woman was insisting he doesn't look alright.

He didn't feel exactly alright, but if he just concentrated just a bit-

He blacked out.

* * *

There was something on his forehead.

He grabbed the hand of whoever was doing that.

The figure now came into focus, the face of the woman from before looking at him.

"Where am I?"

"My husband's house," she said and wrangled her hand from his grip.

He tried to get up, immediately getting incapacitated by a sharp throb in his head.

"What were you thinking, running around dressed like a man?" the woman hissed. "Do you have any idea what could have happened if someone other than me decided to pick you up?"

"I'm a man," he said automatically, rubbing his temples.

Constance sighed. "I'm not arguing with you about that, I'm telling you that you could have been thrown into prison!"

D'Artagnan sighed. "That's a risk I'm willing to take."

"Talking about potentially being thrown into prison," Constance continued, ignoring his comment, "Why were you wearing a doublet with two _bullet holes?"_

He groaned. "Long story."

He tried getting up again, this time with less pain. "But I must leave, I've got an appointment with the musketeer Athos."

He hit his head on the chandelier.

"I know him. Is he a friend?"

He shrugged the doublet back on. "Not really."

"You're in no shape to fight," she said.

He looked at her, surprised.

"I've three older brothers, I know that look in a man's eye," she added.

D'Artagnan ducked his head, letting hair obscure his face as he smiled.

Constance rolled her eyes. "Yeah, of course you're a man, as dumb as they come, too," she grumbled before continuing. "But you really shouldn't go challenge him to a duel or something as stupid as that."

D'Artagnan finished pulling his boots on and got up, grabbing the weapons belt.

"With all due respect, but it's none of your business."

"You've made it my business when you collapsed at my feet!" she snapped back. "Had I known how much you wish to be imprisoned and killed I would have left you in the gutter!"

D'Artagnan paused. "My apologies," he said quietly. "I'm not always so ill mannered." He tilted his head respectfully. "Might I inquire the name of my saviour?"

Constance looked down at her hands and back at his face. "Bonacieux. Constance Bonacieux."

D'Artagnan fiddled with his belt. "Athos killed my father," he finally said. "That's why I must face him."

He turned towards the exit, stopped and looked at her.

"I'm d'Artagnan. Please think kindly of my name."

He walked out of the room.

"If you think of it at all."

* * *

Athos was a fine swordsman. So fine that d'Artagnan had something almost like regret creeping into his head. He pushed that feeling out with a yell and a lounge.

Athos blocked him efficiently and ended up pinning him to a wooden column with a blade to his throat. He stabbed a dagger into the wood next to d'Artagnan's head.

"That's enough!" he shouted. His eyes scanned over d'Artagnan's face and stopped a bit lower. He adjusted the sword, so he could grab the collar of his doublet.

Panic surged through d'Artagnan.

_please don't notice please don't notice pleasedon'tnotice_

"Where did you get this," Athos asked quietly.

"Off the man who tried to kill me," d'Artagnan answered, trying not to look too relieved. "One of your friends, if I'm not mistaken."

Athos slammed him back against the wood.

"Indeed he was," he growled.

"Aramis, Porthos," he called back to his companions. "I think we've found out what happened to Cornet."

D'Artagnan looked at him, confused. "Who's Cornet?" he asked.

Aramis and Porthos flanked him.

"The uniform," said Porthos.

"What did you do with Cornet?" Aramis asked drawing his own sword to poke at the bullet hole in the leather.

"Stop it!"

A familiar voice rang over the courtyard.

"All of you!"

Constance was marching towards them.

"If more men would stop to think rather than point swords there might be more of the good ones left," she muttered angrily.

"Apologies Madam, but this has just become official Musketeer business," Athos replied, eyes still fixed on d'Artagnan's face.

"He thinks you killed his father, but you obviously didn't, now what?" asked Constance. "You're going to kill him for misunderstanding?"

Porthos turned around to look at her.

"It's not just that," he said, shaking his head. "He has killed our men."

"I know you're all stupid, but do you really think he'd come demanding a fight with Athos if he had really done that?" Constance demanded, hands on her hips.

The other two Musketeers turned around to look at her.

"Why did you follow me?" d'Artagnan asked.

"Because I knew you were going to do something stupid," Constance replied. She sighed. "And because I don't think Athos would have murdered your father, not without a good reason."

"What's going on?"

A group of soldiers marched into the courtyard.

"Athos, I'm sorry," their leader said, "But these men have come to arrest you."

"What?" asked Aramis.

"It's him!" a familiar voice shrieked.

"The murderer!"

The innkeeper ran into the courtyard, pointing her finger at the four of them.

"Which one now?" Porthos asked, throwing his arms up in frustration.

D'Artagnan made use of the chaos and slipped away, running right past the guards back into the busiest streets of Paris.

* * *

Once again he's found himself in the market, meandering around stalls, stealing a cloak over someone's back and running away before they could give chase.

He followed the mass of the people exiting the place through another street, wrapping himself in the cloak. He looked behind, seeing a group of guards coming down the street. He quickly ducked into a side alley.

A brief glance showed him that he was not followed and he continued down the narrow labyrinth of alleys weaving through a less busy section of the city.

"You're not from around here, are you?"

D'Artagnan whipped around, seeing Porthos blocking the way behind. He looked back towards where he was going.

"Don't bother, it's a dead end."

D'Artagnan reached for his pistol, but was stopped by the telltale click of a gun being drawn on him.

He slowly turned around, facing Porthos who was now sporting a pistol.

"Here's what we're going to do," Porthos said, slowly approaching him. "You're going to go with me without any attempts of funny business and we'll go to Madam Bonacieux' and talk this over. Understood?" He tilted his head, waiting for d'Artagnan's reaction.

D'Artagnan sighed. "Understood."

"Good." Porthos grabbed him by the upper arm and pointed his pistol at his back, concealing the sight of it by his cloak.

"One thing," d'Artagnan said as they've started marching through the streets. "Can we not go through the market? Pretty sure the owner of this cloak wouldn't take very kindly to the sight of me."

Porthos laughed. "Crafty little bugger, aren't you?" he said jovially and poked him with the gun as d'Artagnan's pace faltered.

* * *

"Here's our little murderer," Porthos announced as he shoved him into the room. Aramis was already waiting for him, leaning on the wall next to the fireplace. Constance was standing in the corner, surrounded by stacks of fabric, arms crossed.

"Can you please explain what is going on?" she demanded.

"I would like to know that too," d'Artagnan said, earning himself a set of pointed looks.

"It's my _father_ who got murdered, remember?" he snapped back at them and buried his face in his hands.

"He said it was Athos of the Musketeers," he mumbled.

"Tell us more about the man who tried to kill you," Aramis said.

D'Artagnan sat down on a chair.

"I was taking care of our horses when two men came into stables," he told them. "They pointed their guns at me, I managed to kill one and the other ran away. After my father died the innkeeper gave me some clothing for the way and I took the dead man's doublet cause my clothes got ruined in the fight."

Aramis and Porthos looked at each other.

"What about your father?" Aramis gently asked.

"When I ran after the other man he came out of the tavern," d'Artagnan said, voice getting thick. "Collapsed right there, dying from a gunshot wound right in my arms."

"And that's when he told you who it was?"

D'Artagnan nodded.

"So you didn't actually see him?" Porthos asked.

"No, I just saw the group of them leaving on horseback."

Aramis and Porthos exchanged looks.

"There is a group of Musketeers that has gone missing while on mission," Porthos said. "And now there's a group of men wearing their uniforms, plundering around."

"Sounds like your friend was framed," d'Artagnan said.

Aramis nodded. "We should find Cornet and his men, find some clues," he said. "Someone really wants the Musketeers, especially Athos, to be the villain here."

"We should go check on Athos before going anywhere," Porthos said.

"What happened with him?" d'Artagnan asked.

"He's in a hearing, Treville is there to defend him but I don't trust the Cardinal," Porthos answered.

"Treville?" inquired d'Artagnan.

Porthos nodded. "He's our captain, you saw him earlier." He tilted his head. "Do you know him?"

D'Artagnan shook his head. "No, his name just... reminded me of something."

"We're going to the court, you stay here," Aramis said. "We'll get back once we're done."

They have made their way to the exit.

"And for the love of God, ditch the leather, no need to advertise you've stolen clothes off a dead man!"

* * *

Constance was looking at him with her hands on her hips. D'Artagnan squirmed.

"What?" he asked.

"Now you're going to take off your shirt and let me take care of your injuries," she said.

"I don't need-"

"You do."

He sighed.

"Okay."

He peeled off the doublet and Constance came to him with a few bandages and a bowl of clean water.

He raised his shirt, a large bruise forming on his side and ribcage. There were several abrasions, the shirt dotted with blood.

"I should've taken care of this before you woke up and left running," she sighed.

"My apologies," he said. "I have brought you nothing but trouble."

"Don't say that," she gently admonished him. "At least something interesting is happening for once."

D'Artagnan huffed out a laugh. "Is it really that boring here?"

"Well, I'm a wife to a cloth merchant," she sighed. "Bickering about the price of this or that fabric gets old quite quickly."

"In that case I'm glad to have brought you some amusement," d'Artagnan answered.

"Next time though try doing it without hurting yourself," Constance said.

"Can't make any promises."

Constance has finished cleaning up the abrasions and d'Artagnan pulled his shirt back on.

"I should fix that for you," she said, gesturing at the torn lacing. "Can't walk around looking like a bandit who can't even afford a good shirt."

"You're too kind," d'Artagnan said. "But for now I'm more concerned with finding something else to wear on top."

"I don't think we've got any leathers," Constance answered. "Just fancy clothes fit for merchants and nobles dilly-dallying around."

"I understand," d'Artagnan answered. "Thank you for all the help."

Constance took the dirty water and leftover bandages away and returned to sit with d'Artagnan.

"What are you going to do after this?" she asked him.

D'Artagnan sighed. "To be completely honest, I have no idea. Our farm should go to my cousin unless I get married and I do not wish to marry or return at all."

Constance nodded in understanding.

"Maybe you could try getting into the Musketeers," she suggested. "You certainly seem to be fit for that sort of life."

D'Artagnan smiled hopefully. "You think so?"

Constance shrugged. "Aramis told me of your duel with Athos. You seemed to be doing pretty well."

"Still got beaten," d'Artagnan said bitterly.

"Athos is the best swordsman in the regiment, beating him would be a practically inhuman feat," she replied. "How did you even end up knowing how to fight?"

"My father has always wanted a son," he said, smiling slightly. "So when his daughter insisted on learning how to use a sword it didn't take much pleading until he caved in."

"It sounds like he was a great father."

Tears in his eyes, he smiled. "He was," he agreed, choked up.

Constance put a hand on his shoulder, rubbing gently with the thumb. "I'm sorry for your loss," she said quietly. "I'm sure he'd be proud of you."

D'Artagnan covered her hand with his and let his tears fall.

* * *

"He was sentenced to be executed at dawn," Aramis said. "We need to act fast."

Porthos tossed d'Artagnan a leather jacket. "Get dressed, we're riding out."

D'Artagnan took the jacket - it looked a bit dusty and worn, but still serviceable. He turned away from Porthos and Aramis and put it on.

Constance subtly nodded to him as he buttoned it up halfway. He checked that it looked sufficiently lumpy around his chest and took his weapons.

* * *

They've found the missing unit, crows showing them the way.

"Here's where your doublet came from," Porthos said grimly.

D'Artagnan stared, feeling bile at the back of his throat.

"Any clue who it was?" he asked.

"Let's look around."

They've searched around, not finding anything until they've returned to their horses where Porthos bent down and picked something from the ground.

It was a spanish coin.

* * *

They've found the Red Guard, dragging him into an empty stable. D'Artagnan watched Porthos and Aramis do their interrogation routine, admiring how effortlessly they bounced off each other. For a moment he thought they were going too actually murder the man, but it was just a ruse to get him talking.

And talk he did.

"Who killed my father?"

D'Artagnan grabbed the man by the collar, getting into his face.

"Alexandre d'Artagnan, killed in the inn just a few hours away from Paris, _who shot him?"_ he hissed, choking the man.

"Gaudet, it was Gaudet!"

Porthos pulled d'Artagnan off, grabbing him by the shoulder. His other hand reached a bit lower, probably to keep him away by the chest and d'Artagnan twisted away before he could touch him there.

His hands shook both with anger on behalf of his father and fear of almost having his secret exposed. Porthos returned his attention to the Red Guard, Aramis standing close behind him. No one noticed d'Artagnan carefully fixing his jacket to ensure his chest looked as flat as possible.

"There. That wasn't so hard, was it?"

* * *

He's had an idea.

Technically, he could do it.

Practically he couldn't.

He sighed.

He'd have to go ask Constance for help in any case. He climbed on his horse and hurried to her place.

* * *

"I'm in your debt."

She looked at him indignantly. "I'm doing this for Athos."

D'Artagnan smiled despite himself, ducking his head.

And immediately regretted it as he was met by a sight of a very comely bosom. His cheeks heated up and he immediately snapped his head back up.

"Uh," he said

"Don't look at me like that," Constance said.

"My apologies." He pointed towards the trees. "Stay over there and you'll be safe, okay?" He took his pistol, handing it to her. "If you're in any danger, use this."

She reluctantly accepted.

* * *

He was vaguely aware that Aramis was saying something as he was staring at Gaudet, committing his face to his memory. He felt all the grief and anger simmering under the surface.

"Gaudet!"

He charged into the camp, not caring that he was grossly outnumbered.

Some men tried to stop him and he killed them without giving them much thought, still focused on Gaudet.

"What's your problem, boy?"

"You'll pay for murdering my father," d'Artagnan spat as they circled each other.

They clashed, Gaudet parrying his onslaught and then running away as another Red Guard attacked d'Artagnan. He killed the guard, chasing after Gaudet.

He swerved around a corner, finding himself staring down the muzzle of a gun.

A shot echoed, the Guard dropping dead and Constance standing behind him with a pistol.

He nodded in thanks and rushed on.

He attacked Gaudet from behind, the man barely blocking the strike, and they battled over the ruined walls. He kept pushing at him, forcing the man to retreat backwards over the uneven terrain. They've reached the clearing with campfire, d'Artagnan raining strikes upon Gaudet.

Gaudet blocked a strike particularly clumsily and d'Artagnan used the momentum to take his sword and shove him to the ground, holding both blades to his throat.

"D'Artagnan!"

Yelling stopped. D'Artagnan realised it was him who was screaming the whole time, fury rendering his voice into a beastly rasp.

"We need him alive!"

Aramis was looking at him sternly. D'Artagnan remembered that Athos was to be executed at dawn if they don't provide evidence of his innocence in time.

His arms were shaking slightly, but still holding the blades firmly.

"Death in combat is too honourable for you," he told Gaudet, voice trembling. "I'd rather see you hang."

He put the blades away, discarding the one he's taken from the man in the stables. He moved Gaudet's sword to his right hand, familiarising himself with the slightly different design.

"When I've killed your father," Gaudet called after him. "I didn't see any sons."

D'Artagnan turned around at walked back towards him.

"I only saw one daughter," Gaudet smiled, all teeth and not a hint of happiness. "Who played at being a son."

He lunged towards him, a dagger in his hand aimed straight at d'Artagnan's heart.

He was stopped by his own sword piercing through his heart.

"You didn't see no daughters," d'Artagnan hissed and pushed his body off the blade.

He looked up from Gaudet's corpse.

Aramis and Porthos were looking at him, faces unreadable.

"Well, the uniforms and Dujon's confession should be enough proof," Aramis said.

D'Artagnan nodded mutely. Porthos walked up to him, placing an arm around his shoulders. "How about you go take Madam Bonacieux home and we take care of mess here?"

Now that the battle has calmed down Constance came closer, looking at them. D'Artagnan nodded once more and Porthos led him to her.

"See you at dawn," Aramis called behind him. "Chatelet, and don't be late!"

* * *

"You should stay."

D'Artagnan has just accompanied Constance to her house and was preparing to leave, looking for an inn. He raised his eyebrows.

"Well," Constance said. "We've got an extra room and if you decide to spend more time in Paris it could be yours," she stammered nervously and looked at him. "You _are_ going to stay in Paris, aren't you?"

He sighed. "I don't know yet," he answered, "But I hope to."

They smiled at each other.

"Come on in," she said, beckoning him in. "I'll show you the room."

* * *

He caught a few hours of shut eye before he woke up, still dark outside. The bedside table had a fresh shirt placed on it, looking approximately his size and not torn at all. D'Artagnan smiled to himself and got dressed.

He arrived to Chatelet just as the sky started to brighten up. Asking the guards around, it seemed like Aramis and Porthos weren't there yet. He asked to see Athos, but was refused, resigning himself to waiting for Porthos and Aramis.

They came rushing in when the sky was worryingly bright already, shoving the royal pardon into the face of anyone who tried to stop them. D'Artagnan rushed after them, spilling into a yard where Athos was already facing a shooting squad.

"Hold your fire!"

Everyone turned around to look at Aramis who schooled his expression into a mask on nonchalance.

"Your release, signed by the king." He waved the precious scroll in his hand, approaching Athos. Porthos waved to the shooting squad, gesturing to put away the weapons.

Athos sagged against the wall, breathing heavily.

"Get these chains of him," Aramis ordered, voice leaving no room for questioning.

"Thought I have finally shaken you two off," Athos said, Porthos and Aramis smiling and chuckling.

D'Artagnan stayed at the edge, feeling almost like he was intruding on a very personal moment. He fiddled with his gloves instead, giving them their space.

They've started leaving the yard and Athos stopped by d'Artagnan, who looked up.

Athos looked him up and down and nodded, a faint, but genuine smile on his lips.

He turned around.

"Didn't you have anything better on hand?" he asked Aramis and Porthos, who were looking at him with amused smiles.

"It just so happens that he was in a need of _some_ thing and you're almost the same size," Aramis replied, Porthos nodding in confirmation.

Athos turned back to d'Artagnan. "It suits you," he said. "Even though it's a bit dusty."

* * *

"You should come with us," Aramis said as d'Artagnan was about to trail off. "We're going to the garrison and Treville said he wanted to see you."

D'Artagnan paused. "Did he say why?" he asked as he's joined them.

"He probably just wants to see the man who helped us save Athos," Porthos answered.

"Understandable." D'Artagnan tilted his head and looked at the trio. "Did you two really give me old clothes from him?" He gestured at Athos.

"Well, all you had was that bullet-ridden doublet!" Aramis said, shrugging.

"It sure was a sight, the man who tried to kill me apparently robbing me as well," Athos added dryly, but with a smile. "Can someone please tell me now what happened?"

* * *

Treville has immediately called them up to his office.

"It's so good to see you here," he said to Athos, real affection showing in his face. He handed him a leather pauldron. "You can wear this again now."

Athos accepted it with a slight bow and Porthos helped him attach the leather to his jacket.

"It's unfortunate that Cornet and his men died, but now their families are preparing them proper funerals," said Treville to the rest of them. "They thank you for finding out what's happened to their men."

Then he turned his attention to d'Artagnan.

"I believe you first wanted to kill Athos," Treville said, making d'Artagnan squirm awkwardly. "But then you've worked with my men to find the truth about what happened to Cornet and who killed your father, who was..."

"Alexandre d'Artagnan."

Treville nodded. "Him and I knew each other," he said. "My condolences, he was a very fine man."

He sighed. "You three should take a day off," he instructed to the Musketeers and then turned to d'Artagnan. "And you I ask to stay a while longer, I'd like to discuss a few things."

The three Musketeers exchanged glances and nodded.

"Thank you, you're dismissed. Try to enjoy yourselves, but not too much, you're expected here tomorrow."

They've bowed slightly and left the room, Treville watching them with a fond expression on his face. After they've closed the doors he fixed d'Artagnan with a steel gaze, face stormy.

"Alexandre d'Artagnan didn't have a son," he said, making d'Artagnan's stomach drop.

He licked his lips nervously, trying to think of what to say.

"There's two possibilities I see here," Treville continued. "But either way you've been deceiving us all. You better start explaining yourself."

"I know this look bad," he started, feeling pinned in his place like a butterfly in some noble's collection. "But I swear it's not as bad as it sounds."

Treville tilted his head slightly.

"I am Alexandre d'Artagnan 's child," he said. "I was born in 1606 in Lupiac, Gascony." He swallowed down a lump in his throat. "But if my father told you about me, he probably mentioned me as Charlotte."

Treville nodded, his expression slightly less foreboding.

"I've taken men's clothing after he's been murdered, I had to avenge him, he taught me how to fight, I _had_ to!" He was close to tears now, all things that he's kept so secret now spilling out. "And like this I am feeling more like myself than I ever did, so _please,_ when I tell you that I'm a man, believe me."

He took a deep breath. "Even if my body has the wrong parts."

Treville looked down, nodding in acknowledgement.

"I haven't heard of such things happening before," he finally said. "But I believe you. Your secret is safe with me."

D'Artagnan sagged in relief.

"Thank you Monsieur," he said sincerely.

Treville smiled.

"Do you have any plans for your future?" he asked. "I assume you don't want to return home and I assume your father's inheritance will go to someone else unless you're married."

"You assume right," d'Artagnan answered. "I want to stay in Paris, but I'll have to find a job."

"In that case," Treville said, "I might have a solution."

D'Artagnan looked at him hopefully.

"I've been told that you're very good with a sword and a pistol," he continued. "While you're still not experienced enough to be a Musketeer, there is still the possibility of contractual work until you are ready to join the regiment." He shrugged.

"It's not the most well paying, but we could, theoretically, hire an outside agent to help with certain missions."

"Thank you, Monsieur!" d'Artagnan exclaimed. "That would solve all of my problems!"

Treville chuckled. "Now that that's out of way, go find your friends. I'm sure they're most interested in what we had to talk about."

"Of course Monsieur, thank you Monsieur," d'Artagnan beamed. "And have a good day!"

With that he bounced out of the office.

* * *

"Someone's happy," Aramis said as he approached them. "What did he have to say?"

"He said I could work with the Musketeers as an outside agent!" d'Artagnan replied, still giddy.

"Great job kid," Porthos said and clapped him on his back. Athos smiled at him approvingly.

"Join us for drinks tonight?"

* * *

"One question though," Aramis said. "When that woman screamed murderer, did she mean you?"

D'Artagnan chuckled awkwardly.

"Maybe," he said and took a sip from his mug.

"Aw, don't hold out on us!" Porthos exclaimed. "Now you have to tell us what happened!"

D'Artagnan just smiled mysteriously and kept sipping his drink.

**Author's Note:**

> go validate me in the comments of by messaging me on tumblr @dropdeadjack i live for attention


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